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Grace Sep 2017
Most days
I can check it at the door
A coat shrugged off shoulders
Kissing my blades goodbye
Shoved into the closet
Collecting dust and ghosts

But today
I am boiling over
Screaming kettle on the stove
Singe your skin
On ******* contact

My rage wouldn't just singe
But scorch
Incinerate

Obliterate your entire being
So you can never do to someone else
What you did to me
Oh and *******
Connor Vibes Jul 2018
Blazing the sun,
Here I am living my life having fun.
The days go by in a world that never sleeps.

Despite my efforts in life of doing my best. Life to me feels like it is a test.
Sometimes I weep, I feel like I’m playing on a deck of cards.

Sometimes people ask, what’s the matter?
But my life’s just getting better.

My soul is like the ocean,
Strong, deep and wild.
Adventurous and creative to the core.

I find myself wanting more.

I’m surrounded in a world that’s just about vanity, but to me that’s just insanity.

Sometimes I feel down, I feel like a clown.
There are times I cry and die a little inside.

My head feels like it’s going to explode when I feel anxious, moments when my head feels like it’s on fire because I feel dire.

I walk alone because I’m wise. I avoid small minds.

Music and clarity are the only things that keep me away from insanity. They are the reflection of my aura. The definition of my life’s mission.
After all, I’ll always do what I can with my time just to be fine.
There’s no need to use my intuition.

A poem written by Connor Vibes.
(2018 - All rights reserved)
Mya Jul 2018
A cigarette will fix things
It has to

Each release breathes out the smoke
And the toxins from within

All I need do next is light the fire
And watch it all burn
Heal me in heat and cancer
Deadwood Jawn Nov 2018
Circular Reasoning




Hurts


     Hurts


           Hurts

Hurts



             Hurts

It  h u r t s ...

It casts my flesh asunder and injects my vessels
Scream at me
Watch me flash
I'll be the one to leave your body
I'll cry down the pillars.

I hope you love me
It's all for you
I secrete and overflow with joy for you...

All you

All you

             All for you

All you

All you.








Misery.
Defiance.

I CANNOT SEE
I WILL WALK STRAIGHT
But the reality principle is

IS

      IS

              IS

                      IS    B      K
                                RO  
                                          E
                                               N.



Trust in me.
I can do anything I like.
I'm fine.
I'm not really ok.
YOU HAVE TO HELP ME IT HURTS SO MUCH.
Look.. it just.. doesn't matter.
I don't trust you for a second.
I will ascend.
What's my name?
Haha we were just laughing at you enjoying yourself.
GIVE THAT BACK IT'S MINE.

DAD AHAHAHA DAD'S GONNA **** ME
****, ITS ALL RED NOW. NOT THAT RED YOU IDIOT
RED. SYMBOLISM. HAHA.

Can't you See SYMBOLISM?

I CAN!

I TASTE IT.

You don't know abstract
I BREATHE IT.

OVERFLOW
CRUMBLE BY THE JAWS OF NEUROTICISM.

Wait hang on.. You shouldn't really be watching this stuff man it might mess you up.
Oh yeah! Masochism!

ENTERS VOID
      BECOMES NUMB
         YET ENJOYS IT
COMPLAINS TO CLOSE ONES
             SUFFER THROUGH IT
                 I DON'T WANT A SOLUTION
I PREFER YOU LEECHING MY NEUROTIC PURPLE TOXINS.

Oh God..
I'm so sorry.

I think I did something bad..

I don't even remember what happened.
I'll try again.. Harder.


My ******* neck aches.


You bleed darkness.
I need you so much.
You're so beautiful when you confess to me.
Your eyes tremble.
Yet you suffer.
I wish no suffering for you.
Yet i can taste your wavelength.
I don't know if I'm bipolar
I DON'T know
I can see

I can see them

Enjoying themselves.

I deserve that.

Where's mine?

I will clench my **** fists so tight
The fingernails will rip apart the flesh
Then dagger my frail insides
Just a little harder.

DON'T MAKE ME SCREAM AT YOU AGAIN!
TRIGGER WARNING: SELF-HARM, EXPLICIT LANGUAGE.
Hae Sun Aug 2018
I could’ve woken you up in the morning and could’ve been the sun that rises even when we both live in a place where it never does.
I could’ve taken you to museums, at least 2 of where I’ve been to. The first one, we’ll have to take the bus because I’d tell you that I’m too lazy to drive but for the second one, I will tell you that I’ll drive you there.
My car would look at me as though it knows that there is another soul seating in the passenger seat – it was no longer some books, a box of pizza, or my dog.
I could’ve taken photos of you in that place, post them everywhere but subtly so that they can see that there are at least 2 forms of art in that photo — the one you’re looking at and the one I’m looking at.
I could’ve talked to you at night under the stars, in the same rooftop where I told you that I liked the cathartic experience of doing just what we could’ve done; the same rooftop where you talked about your life, at least some pieces of it.
I could’ve brought you to where I used to study. We could’ve walked the halls that stared at me for being too alone and too lonely only so I could tell them, “Hey, here he is, finally.” and they could’ve smiled at me because they know how long the longing lasted.
We could’ve taken a stroll in the shade of the trees or could’ve had a picnic there while watching the joggers and the sunset.
I could’ve introduced you to my friends – they’ve been meaning to meet you. They too know how long I’ve been stuck on an island by myself. They know who I was when I was eleven and when I was sixteen and I bet, if you gave them a chance, you could’ve heard the crazy things we did.
And maybe they could’ve liked you. They could’ve told me how lucky I was and probably would’ve warned me that if I hurt you, they’d stick with you instead of me.
I could’ve introduced you to my family — my mom liked you even then. I could’ve introduced you to my little brother who I would consider as the biggest and most important judge of character because I believe that children can sense goodness in people and he could’ve seen that in you.
I could’ve written you letters, could’ve left random little tokens I would've used for all the words I cannot muster to say.
I could’ve played the piano for you even if I just know, at most, 3 songs; even though I don’t really know how to read notes at all.
I could’ve introduced you to the artists I like and I could’ve known more of yours. I could’ve listened to them and I would have had to remember you every time.
I could’ve held your hand, could’ve eaten brunch with you, could’ve read you a poem.
I could’ve loved you — could have – if I was the given the chance.
But, I was and I could’ve used it but I didn’t.
my idea of an “us”
Outside Words Oct 2018
...All I remember was
Cancer and my hospital room,
My green gown, my bed,
My white hair and mustache
Until suddenly...

...Reality started to stretch…

…And flatten into a brief euphoric white…

…I felt a cathartic release
As I was encapsulated and bathed
In a glorious sensation…

...I floated for an eternity…

…Until I felt my euphoria lifting…


…As my eyes reopened
I found myself gazing
Upon a room of tiny lights,
Blue and pink specs
Dotting the inner workings
Of large wall sized machines…

…They lifted me upright
In a gray metal chair
And with sharp robotic groans,
A long arm from the wall
Held up a mirror to my face...

...In the reflection was a young man
I thought I would never see again…

…I had a wife back before,
But now I have a new one
Everybody in my situation,
("Reborns", as they are called)
Has brand new things and people
Filling their lives and concerns
They bring nothing with them
When they make their returns...

…Every morning I wake up
On the west 402nd floor
Of a residential tower
Next to my slim, youthful wife
And the trails of flying cars
That populate our view
From our wall-spanning window
As they soar through the city…

…I was told of technology,
Created and discovered
That could reawaken people
Who, like me, had died
In an earlier era and time…

…It’s strange that my past,
In all its importance and meaning,
Memories, friendships and scenery,
Seems to no longer be of concern,
Now that I have all this…

…I love what was, very dearly,
But the life I live now is for me.
I have new children, knowledge,
Friends and technology…

…I’m quite sure it’s possible
That old family members
That passed before me
Could exist in the same place
That I now live and find myself…

…But I can’t be certain,
Maybe they live further,
Deeper, in an unknown future
That I can’t even comprehend…?

…All I know is that, like me,
They have a new life somewhere
So I’ll do what I tried to do
My first time around…

…I’ll continue to grow and live on
In this new, world-spanning cityscape
Fueled by the love and memory
Of a past life remembered
only by me...
© Outside Words
Kris Apr 2015
Tip one: everyone has problems, exploit that.
The main ones are money, love, death, and existential crisis;
it’s better to write about the former two because the other two…
well, they are the things that people are trying to forget
when they read about the trivial parts of their lives
in the cleverly-phrased lines of your horoscope.
So cater to their needs and help them escape for a moment
through the frivolous indulgence of your vague predictions.

Which leads to tip two: keep it vague.
No one cares about the details. Horoscopes are like Mad Libs:
you give them the starters and they fill in the blanks
with their personal lives and experiences.
Horoscopes should be empty boxes that people pack
with the cluttered thoughts in their head to make room,
to lighten the load up there in their minds.

And this treads on the territory of tip three: white lies.
Clear out all the anxieties, the mind needs the extra space
because that thing called hope? Yeah, it’s kind of claustrophobic.
It needs all that room to be comfortable. If the mind is filled with anxieties
that hang around like that roommate’s friend who’s always over
hope will check out. For good. So by the last line you better have them
picturing their perfect life that will unexpectedly fall into their laps
once they are, “receptive to the idea of changes to come.”

Your horoscope should be a cathartic, spiritual (albeit cheap) experience;
people want to hear that the stars are conspiring to bring them good luck
and the perfect lover. A piece of sincerity among lies and half-humor.
This is the formula for the perfect horoscope.
touka Feb 2018
I sip, poor
on my nepenthe
stroking skin
the glass holding poured antidote
I sip and swoon, devote
I'd swim in it
even as it takes its pities
never part with the piment
the earth stills
slows its cities
and I take a sip of him
the warmest regrets
gnaw at my regard
cathartic, quiet egress
my minds reach not so far
as to want for them again
I sip, so poor
on my nepenthe
drink 'til it pours cold
it offers up its pities
pardon any sentiment
of the sorrow it erodes
it offers up a numb
I can't deny consoles
I'm not a poet
the words I jot down have no particular purpose
"poetry", to me,  is supposed to be cathartic
enabling
relieving
only I know what my words make me feel
only I know what really goes on beyond the words I articulate
I feel in no way professional while writing poetry
I don't try
I just do

I'm not a poet
Poetry is my release
After I write, I can breathe.
I can think.
I can make sense of the feelings I wasn't sure I was even feeling before.
Like having a conversation with myself,
I'm the only person I can talk to.

No, I'm not a poet.
But I think that's okay.
Because it's my therapy instead
Jon-Luc Apr 12
Enigmatic locks of brunette hair let out a cathartic release
Now watch as the man flees with the upmost glee
As he is faced with emerald gazes
Fear
Fear                                  Fear            ­                                  L
                             ­      Fear         Fear                               o
                                                               ­                      v
Fear                                                           ­           e

Not of the reaper but which was sown
Of ones own ilk.

Envy    H
   Envy                                                          a  ­                                       Envy                      ­        
p
Envy                       p
                      ­           Y

Even Narcissus was brought down
In a pool of his own grandiosity


                                            Doubt
Doubt
                                                                ­                Doubt  No more
Lizzy Mar 2016
All I want is to be loved
But I can never seem to get enough.

I lay here alone
Wondering still
Why I have this trench
That nothing can fill?

I search for what I want
And I think it is found
But when darkness falls
I can't hear a sound.

No "I love you" 's,
No reassuring words
No utterance of peace
And, my god, it hurts.

I just want to feel
Like everything's okay
Like I don't have to die
At the end of every day.

What am I missing?
What else do I need,
To finally silence
My endless plea?

I'm begging again
Just to know someone cares.
I need some security
Because I'm constantly scared.

No more sweet nothings,
No romancing kiss.
Where is the love
That I so dearly miss?

Can't you see me dying
For your cathartic embrace?
Can't you see the pain
Written on my face?

I'm a fragile soul,
And I hate that I'm this way
Because I need you always
I need you to stay.

I wish I didn't care
I wish my heart was dead
But after being beaten and broken
It searches for life instead.

I want to be happy
And I want to be free.
I don't want to drown
In this dark lonely sea.

But the waves are all around
And tide is pulling me under.
This storm is so strong
I am deafened by thunder.

I've been fighting it all
For what feels like a thousand years
But it's just my luck
That the sea grow deeper with my tears.

But I can't stop crying
I couldn't if I tried.
I couldn't if my stupid heart stopped
And I finally died.

I'll create oceans from my grave
And the earth will drown,
All because I lived my life
With an eternal frown.

The water will rise
And fill in slowly.
This is my revenge on earth
For leaving me lonely.

Even after the flood
My heart won't stop beating
And it won't forget the love
That it will not stop needing.

How sorry I will be
That I have killed you all.
I will be so sorry
That I will continue to bawl.

So someone please love me
Like I need to be loved
Before the earth is doomed
By my broken hearted gloom.
Look at all those rhymes!
River Reed Mar 12
tHE bEAST lIES dORMANT.

You stumble upon a cave.
Cool breath purges from its mouth;
Waves producing shivers—
Shadowed by curiosity?
Cremating all doubts.

And for one last time,
Reason dictates how you behave.

“Come in, oh ripe blood.”
tHE bEAST’S vOICE tRICKLES oUT.

Amalgamated teeth—hung above,
Saliva drip-drops unto the ones below.
Under your feet,
A tongue of damp-dark snow.
Although... last light lies within,
Hence who’s to claim it isn’t so?
Eyes strain—a distant glow.

tHE bEAST lICKS iTS lIPS.

Slight stumble—
If only you could sense these ***** tricks!
Again steady…

aS tHE bEAST iS tOO.

Desperately you reach for the light,
Blinded by its cathartic might,
You grab tight.
Oh!—how the cave grows darker than night,
Depreciating sight.

tHE bEAST’S hUNGER iS sOOTHED.

Relentlessly you paw for a way out,
But the beast’s mouth has long since shut;
Infinite rut—you scream and shout.
Bohemian Mar 25
"I"
With all the delights that this day has pumped in me,
I shall exhale,evaluating.
Nothing frights me though,
Yet at times my humility easily goes.

A fearless vagabond that I have turned into,
Even the merciless,to look into my eyes, does not dare.
I am in no haste,
Even my trots have the power to leap and make a thud such that everybody fall off their steps.

Your stares that I descry,
No more make a difference to me.
For I am immune and have no envy,fear,agitations,trepidations or gluttonous desires.
It is no shame,those sights be such a common thing and all the same.

I have no back story and none coming forth,shortly or in this life,
I don't hestitate to yell what many of you cannot spell.
For all the stabs faced,
Birthed a scabbard and a sword in one frame.

The truth could be my lingua franca,
Forlorn be the brethren of my creed.
Repressed and silenced are my alarms of seize fire over the border,
Mollifying and tranquilizing be a part of my duty.

To stand the repercussion of my sins counts in my atonement,
For it is never an evanesce,too late.
I fear no hell or purgatory,
For I have witnessed worse in some eyes.

Victimization is a poor retreat,
To harangue them and present self with an ode is no feat.
Patience is my dagger to time,
And threatening each other we walk rakishly hand in hand.

To trail back,
Is not for me that fatal.
I emancipate the baited,
And buster am I of existing parasites.

Liberty is my boundary,
I would dare not to annihilate a choice.
But I do not condone either,
For I hate to feel withered and there is no way I may let go.

I am relentless,
I would not mind if you address me as a bovine.
I am cathartic and hysterical,most of all a contributor here,
An energy straight from plasma,unsimplified.
Jaycub J Feb 2
Cloaked in
organic philosophy
I sit
cross-legged
mind stretched
on the balcony.
Flute of the
ancients drifts
cleansing
the melancholy
tumbleweed
through sweet
sounds forward
calling me.
A candle guides
into bliss.
Reflections
of presence.
The flame of
what is.
Moments I own,
Or rent.
Passing like
landscape
through glass
in the passenger
car on this
mountain descent.
Claws of
the eagle soaring
grip my heart
without warning.
Grip slips,
dropped, split on
a rock in a field.
Heart opens
with cathartic feel.
Reveals another layer,
Peeled. Pain
of the beloved
Pleasure
when it heals. Back
To the breathe.
Inhale into infinity,
Exhale into death.
A chime reminds
me of time,
Refreshed.
My life
I resurrect!
Sunlight enters,
And I nod
in respect.
Altigani Feb 3
Say something cathartic,
Because crying was not,
Sing me warmth, because I am the arctic,
I wish I wasn't, but this is the life I got,

Help me build a smile,
As my face is stubborn and persistent,
It'll be difficult, it'll take a while,
Make it gentle and never distant,

Help me sketch my youth,
Stand by me, and watch it all unfold,
As the sketches bind to reality and become the truth,
But it all seems like distant reality, and my breath
I'm unable to hold
I crave an old romantic, poetic love
Of broken chimes and crushed foxgloves
Of coffee stains upon the table,
And early light slipping through the window
Of shuttered eyes and tired hearts,
Of hopeful lies and ancient arts,
A love sweet off wild honey,
And of fresh bread and melancholy
Of battle wounds and salty tears,
Of lasting throughout the years,
Of endings bitter and yet cathartic
Of weathering an endless arctic,
And love with a thread-bare string,
A wish, a tender, tethered thing,
I crave an old romantic notion
Of tested, sure emotion
And love, that which does not age,
Manifests so easy, off the page.
Jayne E May 17
WARNING. this poem deals with subject matter that may disturb or trigger some people. It was set as a cathartic exercise for me, by a wonderful wise caring writing mentor of mine, to try help exorcise some historical demons, and in doing so, lay some pain and painful memories, nightmares, etc to rest. It addresses child **** and ****** abuse & torture, so I felt a warning necessary, and apologise in advance for any emotions or discomfort or pain it pulls up.  I don't usually like to offer explanations of my poetry preferring the reader assign their own meaning, formulate their own emotional response, but had to make an exception here.  Thank you for reading, it is often a 'taboo' subject matter, but it needs to be talked about. J.C.x

The Smell of the Monster

It's the smell of a monster,
dressed up as a man
the kind you would smile for,
and extend a hand.
He smells of things longed for,
a confusion occurs.

It's the smell of a day spent
playing at the beach,
of sea, sand, salt and sunshine,
in his tousled blonde hair
like lemon blossoms blown past
on nights summer breeze,
and of the deep dark earth
beneath these trees

It's a whiff oh so small subtle
of pinetarsol and bleach,
maybe that will alert her
to this lecherous leech.

It's of clean skin in sunshine,
it really just smells all wrong,
as he acts out for this child
all that for which his sick head longs

Smell the ******* roughhewn
by his long fingered hands
and the masculine musk
when his limp **** now stands

His sweat becomes acrid
as he applies himself with vigour
smell my tears on my cheeks
as I assume death like rigour,
tasty salty drips
from my cheeks to my lips.

His breath now quick blows
nicotine to my nose,
as he tightens his grip
here I go here I go,
silent calls for my mother
mother, mummy, mum please
and the smell of his ***
was a new scent for me.

Smell now the blood as it drips
down my legs down my thighs,
he has unpealed my screams
deadened my sighs and my eyes.

I can smell my own sweat my blood
and my fear, and now I smell him stronger, as he moves closer near.

Time to clean up this big
mess of me he has made
in the bath filled with bleach,
and disinfectant of pine, imperial leather soap, baby powder and then,
applied Vaseline
to the **** torn clean,
so it's all better for next time
he calls on me,
to return to the horrors
******* to that tree.

For now it's all sweetness, he plays his part well, pajamas and tuck-ins, a kiss on my forehead and then "night night" and one last whiff of his stink, as I lie murdered, in my child's bed
....chasing sleep...

J.C. 13/03/2019.
Diana Jan 2
I've learned to accept that
Sometimes
The best response
To certain questions
Happens to be your silence
It possesses the power
To speak emotions
That words cannot

So accept silence
Listen to what it has to offer
Embrace it
Knowing that it has the ability
To bring cathartic consolation
When you
Or someone else
Crave it
In the most dire times
Sometimes cliches aren't good enough to convey how you would like to respond to someone. In fact, they might be worse than saying nothing at all. However, silence can be stronger than words will ever be.
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